


Erised

by MrsMoriarty



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama & Romance, M/M, Mirror of Erised, a bad relationship can really fuck you up, longing for you So, talking about how you love the wrong person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23608951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMoriarty/pseuds/MrsMoriarty
Summary: Sirius Black is still at large and Albus Dumbledore can’t sleep over a conversation he had years ago with a former student and friend. Sometimes it’s hard to find peace when you can’t let go of your own addictions.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Kudos: 28





	Erised

**Author's Note:**

  * For [werthersechter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/werthersechter/gifts).



**Sirius Black sighted**

**Sirius Black, the most infamous prisoner — from Azkaban, — has been sighted in Dufftown by an astute Muggle.**

The Daily Prophet’s headline lay forlorn and pointless in the burnt-down fire’s last amber rays when the large oaken office door shut close.

Midnight had long since passed when he finally gave in. The cloaked figure slid silently down the cold stairwell. His robes were velvet and silken, of exquisite quality but also grey like the ocean after a particularly heavy storm blending the lone wanderer in with the heavy stonewalls he kept himself close to. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, the ancienct guardian gargoyle reared ist ugly head for a second but once it took in the features of the nightly visitor, it knew better than to comment.

The churning of the large stones was deafening in the otherwise undisturbed silence of the castle and the man quickly seized the opportunity to escape the dimly lit hallway without making a sound himself. In so much as a blink he vanished around a corner and was swallowd by the dark. No torches were lit on this floor and the wizard did not bother illuminating his wand. Obviously, he knew the castle very well, for not once did he waver or stop in his track. His steps were almost inaudible, treading from one thick carpet to the next, avoiding each creaking floorboard and each vanishing step with ease.

The darkness muffled sound and only the occasional grazing light of the half-moon gave away the silent figure whenever he passed one of the large windows.

Neither Filch nor Mrs. Norris or the patrolling prefects became aware of the secret shadow roaming the castle. Pathetic, really, walking like this, a thief in the night, an intrudor to one’s own home. But pathetic he was and so was probably his desire that drove him here. A sentimental weakness and yet he had given in, and yet…

He stopped dead in front of an empty classroom on the second floor. A thin, wrinkled hand reached for the doorknob, only to find it slightly creaked open. The man shifted a bit in order to catch a glimpse of the interior and sighed. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he was not the only restless soul tonight. If there was someone, anyone in the room, he would turn around and leave, he was sure. It had saved him before.

But of course, Fortuna proved to be as merciless a mistress as she always had been and when he found the room empty he knew his battle to be lost. However strong he might seem to others, this was a temptation he would not be able to resist, not tonight, not when wounds he had long thought healed had been opened up so cruelly, again.

_„Do not do this to yourself!“ The words, softly spoken, fall like snowflakes on the ground, impactless and fleetingly._

_„Do what?“ Brown eyes, tired and driven, fixing a point somewhere above his right ear and aeons away._

_„Blame yourself.“_

_Of course, that particular piece of advice is pretty hippocritical. Blame, in this scenario, is not an option, it was a certainty and a rather cruel one at that._

Around him there was nothing, only blind windows, a few tables and benches buried under white sheets that seemed surprisingly petrified in the silver of the full moon. The black-board on the far end of the room was cracked, it couldn’t have been used in ages, an unusual place for the treasure it harboured.

Amidst the dust and cobwebs in the very centre of the room stood a piece of furniture, dark and high, unyielding. Maybe he should have had it moved long ago, somewhere where ist presence could not lure him in so easily, somewhere it could be of use, maybe.

_„I should have been there for him.“ The words are spit out, poisoned with self-loathing and desperation._

_„Nothing you could have done could have saved him.“_

_His attempt at comfort does not veil how flimsy it is and probably helps nothing at all to soothe the fresh wounds._

_„I could have stopped him.“_

_„You cannot know that. If he truly wanted it.“_

_„I could have stopped him from wanting.“ Remus‘ words come out torn now. „I could have stopped him from…“_

He had thought himself to be prepared this time, although he never was, not really. And when he pulled the sheet off the mirror for a split second he only saw himself. Older, yes, but not quite ancient yet, smiling a half-sad, half-content smile that testified of the knowledge the past years had bestowed on him, of his power and dignity and self-content, wanting nothing, nothing more than…he blinked.

_Remus pauses and then, as if choking on the words, adds: „I could have fixed him.“_

_His tone betrays that he can’t fool himself, that he knows the words to be the lie they are._

_„You can’t fix what’s not broken.“ No matter how sympathetic he sounds it can’t erase the cruelty that lies in the statement. „From what we know he did this in full intent. We were all fooled.“_

_„We“ the younger man retorts , „didn’t even try to speak to him!“ And it’s clear from the reproach in his voice that „we“ in this case means „you“._

_He sighs. „Sometimes…Sometimes talking won’t help.“ He chooses his next words very carefully. „Sometimes it will just make you wonder how you couldn’t have seen it earlier, how you could have ignored the signs.“_

_Remus doesn’t answer but avoids his eyes and presses his lips together in thinly masked anger, so the old man continues. „This wound you have suffered can’t be undone so easily. Only time will be able to heal it, I’m afraid.“_

_The lie leaves a bitter taste in his mouth._

He was afraid. Laughable, really, but true nonetheless. For a second longer he kept his eyes closed, not ready to face the truth, to stare into…

_„You don’t understand!“ He hasn’t really expected Remus to say anthing else, so his seething anger and bitterness surprises him. „I loved him.“_

_He is not sure if the past tense is completely sincere. He makes to answer but is cut off._

_„Don’t! Just don’t pretend to understand for once. How could you?“_

Blue eyes. Not his own, not anymore. Younger, more vibrant. Promising. Promising the world and more. Oh, to be lost in those eyes again! Falling like it was his first time all over again, floating, soaring higher than the highest stars, deeper the lowest abyss, searing hot, pointless, endless, everlasting, set in stone, a simple truth from beyond the restraints of time and space, warm and welcome and home, the greatest good there was.

_„How could you understand what it’s like to be in love with…“_

_He understands why Remus pauses, of course, knows why it’s so impossible to utter the words, and this familiar inability makes him forgive the young man’s harshness. It’s born out of unbearable pain, obviously, and the fear that with admitting one’s own naivety the horrible truth beneath will also slip out, so who is he to judge the other one’s struggle?_

_„To be in love with a murderer?“, Remus finishes his sentence and even though his voice gets weaker it doesn’t falter showing a strength that he himself never possessed._

_For a moment the old man straightens involuntarily, then, as if to conceal his discomfort, puts on a sad smile that he hopes to be comforting. „I’m sorry for your loss, Remus.“_

Guilt rose in him, a tight grasp around his throat, even after all these years, made him nauseous and dizzy. He wasn’t quite sure which of his failures weighed worse: To have been in love with a murderer or his not admitting it right there and then and a tiny voice inside his head whispered the terrible truth that it was neither and that his worst fault had always been that not once in his life had he found it in himseld to truly regret what those blue eyes had meant to him, still did in the deepest, darkest corner of his soul.

But then again, lying – or perhaps rather avoiding the truth – had become a habit of his long ago and old habits died hard.

Albus Dumbledore took a deep breath to calm the storm still raging in his chest. The stones beneath his knees were hard and the cold was starting to creep into his limbs. Maybe he should get up and go to bed.

The blue eyes staring at him disagreed, even though there seemed to be a certain sympathy in them. If it just weren’t for that… His held breath came out as a small sigh. The noise was small, but just enough to black out the sound of a door opening and steps approaching just to halt right after entering the room.

Whoever it was, they kept their distance and Dumbledore didn’t feel the need to acknowledge their presence. For a moment the room was frozen in the heavy silver moonlight.

When Remus finally spoke his words were toneless and seemed to carry a certain sad smile that was probably meant to be comforting.

„After all these years, Albus?“

Apparently, he had been a worse liar than he had thought. Or perhaps it was just that all hurt people thought alike. And in the end, what point was there in denying? He didn’t turn around and allowed himself to keep his eyes on the mirror for just a second longer.

„Always“


End file.
